I've come to the conclusion that more times than not, life is really, really difficult. And for some reason, it seems to be even more of a bitch to me. I can't say that my life is utterly horrible, but it is difficult. I've got a lot on my plate, and I've never been more grateful that I have the members of mibba to share my feelings with.
So I've decided to write letters to all of the people that I need to talk to because I just don't have the guts to say it to them.
Dear Ashlen,
We've been through a lot, my friend. You were there when he broke my heart, I was there when your father had the attack. We've shared secrets that no one else knows, and we've made memories together that can never be forgotten. I feel like if I lost you, I would loose everything. You are the rock on which I stand, the only physical thing I feel I can trust, and I think you may be slipping from my grasp. I know your the little lamb of our flock, looking to find a steer to show you the right direction, but why did you go to her? I could show you the way to happiness. I could show you love.
My mother said that I was the leader, but she wanted to steal away my position. You said you'd always believe in me, but why have you stopped? Why do you stray? She will lead you to destruction and pain, and I know from my own faults. Don't you trust the words I say?
My mother says you want to be loved, that you need to have friends. You had me, wasn't that enough? Wasn't I good enough? She says I'm not like that. She says that I don't cling to the sheep like you do, but doesn't she know leaders want love and friends too?
But why does it matter? I'm nothing special.
Dear Conner,
"You emotive little brat" is what the hypocrite might say, and we all know that is what I am. I slit my writs, I cry myself to sleep, and listen to My Chemical Romance, just like you want me to. I leave my long bangs in my face and wear dark clothing when I can, I have even painted my nails black. You've created in me low self-esteem and I may never get it back. Try to ignore my emotive ways and tease me nonstop. No really please, I beg you to poke fun at the way I look. Draw attention to my figure that was formally something else.
The happiness and smiles have all drifted away and I hope you realize it was your fault. The reason I am the way I am is because of the way you act. Go stuff your pants and eat her lips, wave your middle finger in my face. Its all because of your selfish pride that you just can't push away. Long live the sarcastic hypocrites with emotive pasts.
But why would you listen? I'm nothing special.
Dear Brice,
To you, I don't know what to say, for you are the problem at hand. When I think of your name all I can see is the betrayal, the lies, and the hate. Envy had washed over you, and you did things that you shouldn't have done. You apologized and I forgave, but I wouldn't do it more than once. Together we were happy, up until the next year, when you decide it would be fun to test my patience with fake tears. You lied and pretending to be innocent, but I could see right through your teeth, you tongue was speaking lies.
I was kind and sweet to you, when you were just a lowly sheep. I was your friend and I helped you out, introducing you to the others who didn't speak. You clung to me, and spoke of me well, filling up my soul with pride, but soon enough did your praise stop, and was replaced with lies.
Throughout the years I've learned to tolerate, but the bad morals you have, and your unethical behavior is almost impossible to disregard. You pretend to be nice and friendly and sweet, but on the inside you know of our silent war. I've spoken to you just once or twice and have shared my distaste, but never did you listen to the words I spoke, not a single syllable.
Why were you made to torture me? Don't you know the world would be better if you were dead? Life would be so much better if I never had to hear a single word you said.
But why would you care? I'm nothing special.
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